Miraar's Adventures in Wherever the Hell she Goes
by DarkblightTheHunter
Summary: Miraar often goes out on missions for her Huntswomen friends and... well, she often gets hurt pretty badly. Here are some recountings of what these events are.
1. Chapter 1

Miraar silently drew an arrow from her quiver, lodging it in its place in her bow. She pulled the bowstring back, aiming directly at her target. A Warp Stalker that had reptilian features paired with white and purple scales no doubt crusted with blood from past ambushes on the opposing faction was poised to leap at the quiet enemy that its mistress had been aiming at. The creature's fangs were bared in a slight snarl, reflecting the huntress' feeling towards this particular target.

The words that Miraar would have used to describe this individual would most likely be scrawny, pale, and perhaps weak- but these words were far from the truth. The truth was, mainly, that the being scrunched over was quite powerful. He, as it could be seen after some scrutinizing over the difference in gender, was a blood elf; a slightly skinny being- pale, as well, with long, pointed ears that extended to the heavens before tapering to a point (his eyebrows could be described this way, extending far past the sides of his head).

Alas, when Miraar had thought she'd snuck up without being noticed, the elf was well-aware of her presence. He already had prepared a spell to deflect Miraar's arrow in a few simple moments, readying another one used to inflict maximum pain to its target after the former.

Miraar, of course, hadn't noticed the spells being performed although they were quite obvious. She was simply waiting for the perfect moment to release her arrow- she wasn't at all fond of the man's race, seeing what they'd done to her own, the Draenei. Tempest Keep would never be the same after Kael'thas, the blood elven leader at that time, had forcefully taken the naaru-made inter-dimensional ship.

And then came the perfect moment to release the arrow. Before Miraar let it fly, she infused the arrowhead with energy from her mana pool to keep it flying true. As the arrow took flight, however, it was simply stopped midair.

The elf turned around, using his powers to absorb the energy. He smirked, launching his second spell at Miraar- which, unlike the arrow she'd shot, kept steady in the air and hit Miraar square in the abdomen. She fell to her knees, arms clasped over the area where she'd been hit. A cry of agony came from her mouth, though not from the pain of the wound; it was from the knowing thought that had flashed across her mind that she was not going to win this battle.

Vakaala, Miraar's companion (the Warp Stalker), launched at the elf as soon as she saw her mistress being harmed. The elf had seen it coming, and he swiftly pulled out a short-sword to strike the creature. He succeeded, his blade lodging itself in the Warp Stalker's  
chest. Vakaala was kicked to the side almost immediately after she fell limp from the puncture.

With that out of the way, the man soon had his full attention on Miraar. He looked around, making sure nobody else was around the area that they were in the desolate Shadowmoon Valley. Miraar was still bent over and on her knees from the pain of the spell, and the elf grabbed one of her arms and dragged her away to a more suitable area for what he was to do to this ambusher.

Miraar knew she had possible torture in store for herself, along with countless agonizing Warlock spells being cast upon her. She quietly and without struggle was dragged away by the elf to a more secluded area. He sat her down and pressed a few fingers against her lowered chin to get her to look up at him.

"An attack. What for?" he asked in impeccable Draenic, his free hand forming a mind-searing spell. It glowed purple as he hovered his hand near Miraar's temple.

"I shall never tell you, blood elf scum," she spat out, defiantly glaring up at him. He scowled, pressing the spell into her temple. Miraar yelled from the pain, though she didn't beg mercy.

The elf stood up. His scowl deepened. "Who sent you here?" he persisted, pacing to and fro in front of Miraar. He had already prepared the next spell, this one to cause physical pain.

"I will hold my tongue." Miraar's voice was already wavering. _Let us hope that help will come soon, _she thought, _lest I die for my people..._

Another sudden thought occurred: Two people who wouldn't at all benefit from her death. The first of which she was engaged to, and the second of which was her adopted son. Why, oh, why did I have to leave on this mission...? She yelled again, hoping to at least gain attention from a passerby or explorer of some kind.

The elf launched his spell at her legs, successfully immobilizing them while inflicting pain as well. Miraar gritted her teeth, yelling more through the pain.

"Will I have to silence you, Draenei? Very well..." The elf muttered, preparing another spell. This one was a bit more complex, taking up at least a few more agonizing minutes for Miraar to await impact. "You, my dear, shall be a mute until one of us dies," the elf explained, sending the spell at her chest. Miraar gasped for air for a few moments and tried to yell again, though she could not. The closest she could get to speaking was the soft sound of air escaping through her mouth.

"Now isn't that just wonderful, wouldn't you agree?" The elf smirked and delved into Miraar's thoughts for several moments.

_I still have hope!_ she thought. _After all, you haven't taken away my abilities to hear and see when help comes._

The elf nodded. "Clever Draenei. Not so clever that you revealed that to me, though," he said, weaving two more spells in each of his hands. He soon fired them at Miraar's chest once more, and-

A veil of black covered Miraar's senses. She heard an extremely high pitched frequency before all sounds simply died off. Her vision immediately became dark. It was what she imagined dying would be like, though with the pain of death lasting and lingering for far too long. It was impossible to decide if what she was seeing was white or black or some other colour, though she doubted it was a colour at all; after all, seeing colour would mean that she wasn't fully blind.

She couldn't expect when the next spells would hit. Most of them came almost immediately, though some of them waited to give her a false sense of hope. Time after time all that she had to cling onto was the hope- the simple hope that maybe, just maybe, the warlock had been defeated. There was a long, long period of time where she could feel nothing: No pain and no pleasure, simply void. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, and she sure as hell couldn't keep track of time.

As soon as she'd tried to fall asleep, the sharp pain of a spell hit her abdomen. She began to cough up blood, but the elf warlock would persist. Every time she yelled, or tried to yell, she was met with a stinging throat and more pain... More pain. Pain was everywhere around her; in her mind, on her body, in her lungs and stomach. It hurt. It hurt more than she'd imagined, and what she'd imagined was surely more pain than a commoner felt in their lifetime.

After what Miraar was sure was a day, at the least, the warlock delved into her mind once more despite the fortification she'd at least attempted to put up. He brought up painful memories and fears, though what he was searching for was the reason that she was here. Miraar made several attempts to push him out of her mind, though all her attempts were met with reminders that the warlock was, of course, stronger than her both physically and mentally.

After he had found the reason, the warlock retreated. He dragged Miraar to the nearest road and simply left her there; lasting spells still in effect, and she was still deaf, blind, and speechless. Her legs were still immobile, as well. She put all her energy (despite the remnants of that being very bare) into clawing her way so slowly down the road. She knew partially where she was, somewhere near the Alliance camp... And she had no way of telling her exact location.


	2. Chapter 2 - Undercover WIP

Only the gentle sounds of the wind and the soft noise of hooves falling on semi-paved roads could be heard in the dark forest that Miraar was riding through. Occasionally some leaves rustled and her steed snorted, but otherwise all was silent. This had been going on for several minutes prior; when Miraar entered the forest in the first place.

She pulled out a small, rolled up map, dismissing the thoughts of where the old thing had been and how many stains were on it. It appeared she and her steed were heading in the right direction, but no signs of a mansion were apparent from what could be seen through thick layers of trees and dense fog. The forest was certainly a place that one would assume a villain kept residence in; the general aura of the place was definitely a foreboding one. Miraar sighed and gently pressed her hooves into her steed's sides, urging it to trot on.

The chances of finding this mansion on time seemed to be getting bleaker and bleaker until the distinct shape of a stone building came into sight. As Miraar and her steed approached, the place seemed to grow taller and wider. It was impressive despite the incredibly apprehensive feeling it gave off. There were no windows. Miraar had to wonder how a person could live like this... without light? She found it rather puzzling, seeing as Draenei architecture revolved around open areas and light. Her steed paused.

Miraar clicked her tongue and patted the horse's neck in a coaxing manner to make it keep going. The steed snorted and stopped. "Easy, easy." Her words were of no use; soon her steed became restless. It reared a few times and managed to throw Miraar off before running off.

The dull thump of muscled flesh hitting pavement was heard before Miraar cried out in pain from the impact of her tail being forced into the ground under the weight of her body. A devilish, high-pitched giggle sounded through a nearby bush. Miraar cursed idly, lifted herself from the ground, and brushed her skirts off. Walking alone in strange woods without any easily accessible weapons on her person was not entirely the best idea... at the very least she was only a few minutes away from being safely inside the mansion.

It took a few moments to get to the front door. Miraar felt a few tugs at the bottom of her skirts as she opened the creaky door to finally be inside, though she payed no mind to what it could be from.

After casting some uneasy glances around the nearly barren foyer, Miraar took a large breath. "_No thal'rikuun_!" The Eredun words sounded foreign and bitter on her tongue.

In an instant, an imp scampered up from behind Miraar. It danced about while its beady eyes locked onto Miraar, fel flames flickering across its leathery skin. "Draenei!" it screeched, cackling animatedly for a few moments. "The master has been expecting yous! FOLLOW!"

Almost immediately, the imp bounded recklessly up a nearby set of stairs. Miraar huffed, hiked up her skirts, and followed. Luckily, she managed to not trip on her hooves. By the time they reached an open area that had a surplus of full bookshelves lodged into the walls, Miraar seemed near to the point where running that hard for any longer would most definitely be straining what her body could already do.

"Zar'kulk, I've already told you about chasing the sayaad!" echoed a deep human's voice from across the room and behind a chair.

Miraar smirked and donned the rest of her façade even through how tired she was from running all the way up the tower. "Well," she murmured, forcing herself to shed her natural accent and make her voice as smooth as possible, "I'm no sayaad, but I've been called one with how..." She trailed off and her smirk grew a bit wider.

The figure at the table turned around slowly; revealing first a foot, then a leg, then a torso... but his face was covered. Miraar scrunched her nose out of annoyance with not being able to see the man's face nor where his gaze lay. She rested her hands at her hips.

"You are the Draenei warlock I'm supposed to talk with about the organization I am to... fund, if my assumptions are correct?" Miraar noted to herself that his voice was deep and commanding. The accent he spoke with was not one from around the humans of the area... She had to guess it was Gilnean. "Quite an interesting race and class combination, if I must say so. What led you to it?" He seemed to be smirking as he advanced forward to be mere inches from Miraar. She bit her lower lip and looked down at him.

"You are correct. As for what led me to be a warlock... Hmph. Long story short, power. I want power. The path of a warlock promises... quite a bit of power, but I am only a novice." Miraar smirked in return, though she hadn't expected this question of her. Her answer had to be quick and probable; she managed.

"Well," the warlock purred, "if it's power you want, my dear, I could help. For... a price, of course." He lifted up the hood that had been covering his face, and to Miraar's surprise, he didn't look like what she'd seen of 'evil-type' warlocks at all! He was young- not more than thirty years of age- and he had a generous beard. It wasn't too long, but enough to cover his chin. The rest he kept shaved. His hair was raven black and well-kept, and quite frankly Miraar would think him handsome if not for the fact that he was a warlock.

"Mm?" Miraar hummed. She cautiously watched his gaze and smirked when he glanced down at her curves. "What kind of... price?"

His eyes snapped up to meet hers almost immediately and he offered her a sly grin. "Well, love," he drawled, advancing close to the point of pressing his chest against hers (she did her best to not appear uncomfortable in the situation), "I'll tell you that when we get business over with." Miraar raised a brow at this but nodded once.

"Right. I have been sent by the organisation called 'Huntresses of the Burning Blade', to discuss how we wish to have your help in... Financial issues. We understand that you have large amounts of wealth." Miraar edged her way out of being so close to the warlock. She walked a few paces away, keeping her back facing him and her shoulders slightly stressed. Miraar felt the warlock slide in beside her, but she payed him no mind. "We... honestly, are not a profited organisation. Much has been attempted to change this, but all those have only run us dry." She met his gaze and lowered her voice as if telling a dirty secret; "I'd do anything for the rest of the women in our group. This was only supposed to be professional, but..."

Miraar lowered her chin in shame at what she just hinted at only to find moments later that he lifted her chin with one of his gloved hands and forced her to look at him.

"You are saying that you would do anything to get me on your side?" He enunciated his words slowly and precisely- even more so than usual in this question. Miraar managed a feeble nod.

"Ah, what a day! When a woman whose name I don't know shows up at my doorstep and announces she'd do anything for me? Hah!" He chuckled and let go of her chin, then let himself fall into a nearby chair. "Augustus Graywick. You?"

Miraar lifted her chin. "Mi- ah, me? Akuura. I do not have a surname." Under her breath, she muttered so inaudibly the word 'yet'.

"Well, then, Akuura, just what are you willing to do to get me on your side?"

"Anything you could wish for."

Augustus smirked widely.

The two spent the rest of their night in Augustus's private quarters.

* * *

Almost no sleep was had after Miraar was excused to her room. What sleep she did get was stained with unpleasant dreams that showed nearly every mistake Miraar had made in her planning to kill this warlock. Miraar had a hard time walking the next morning. The night prior, she was carried to her temporary room after a rather ravaging Augustus had his way with her; unlike the only other man who she'd been with before, Augustus had only his own pleasure in mind. It wasn't at all what Miraar was used to.

Nevertheless, Miraar walked around the room to her content before sitting on a hard, wooden chair and starting a letter.

_To the Huntswomen_,

She wrote with slow, precise lines.

_I did not manage to kill him despite having many chances to last night. Perhaps I should keep a more easily accessible dagger on for next time._

Miraar glanced over her shoulder. She had the uneasy feeling that something was watching her.

_I'll try again tonight. Hopefully it won't be as brutal as last time. Curse you all if I'm not able to walk after managing to hit_

Miraar looked around again. The feeling grew a bit stronger.

_the fatal blow._  
_You've been in contact with Sidereus, yes? Tell him that I said I'm fine and will be fine so long as everything goes to plan._

_Your best Huntress,_  
_Mira_

Miraar couldn't get through with writing out the rest of her name, as something rather insistently knocked on her door and shouted, "The master wishes to take lunch with you! NOW!" At this, Miraar rolled up the letter into a scroll and tied it to the mail owl's claws. She watched it take off.

She frowned and hastily put undergarments on (the corset was a hassle) followed by a suiting dress. She checked to make sure it fit properly, then quickly made her way to where she assumed the dining hall was. She kept a small dagger up one of her sleeves.

As soon as Miraar got to the dining hall, she could make out Augustus's outline behind a thin chair. Miraar readied her dagger in case she got the chance to be so close to him, then sat down.

"Augustus," she curtly murmured, smirking and watching him; he inspected her for a moment before nodding to himself.

"Your robes look very fine, Akuura." Miraar watched the corners of his mouth tug up in a smirk. "They'd look even finer on my bedroom floor."

"Oh?"

"Of course. Sadly, at the moment I would like to talk to you personally." Augustus furrowed his brow; Miraar could assume it was because he was finding the words to say. "You have said that you are only a novice in being a warlock. I could... help train you, so long as I can have my way with you during the night."

Miraar stiffened. She did her best to not appear uneasy, but his offer was...

"Akuura, you are very stunning. A beauty I've not seen before. I want to have you as mine!" Augustus's eyes glinted with greed and passion. Miraar, though, didn't like this idea at all- she slipped out of her façade in the heat of the moment.

"Jous... jous are such a sleaze! Villing to take advantage of a woman because she said she vould do anything to better her comrades?! Ugh!" Miraar covered her mouth with one hand. Panic spread throughout her as she slowly realised what she'd just said; _by the seven Ata'mal crystals_, she actually said that!

Augustus blinked once, twice, in shock. "Well, isn't this surprising? I'd taken you for just some lowly whore who happened to be keen on warlock magics! Goodness, I'll bet that Akuura isn't even your name, is it?" Miraar could see his hands glow a soft, deep fel green, and in a moment her hands and hooves were bound together by what felt like heated iron ropes.

"I suppose now jous are going to keep me prisoner until someone comes to the rescue?"

"_If _someone even cares about you enough to come to the rescue. You _will_ be mine."

Miraar's vision blacked out.

* * *

_Augustus_

She didn't know how truly stunning she was. The runes she was so-called inflicted with only made her even more stunning... How he longed to touch her smooth skin again, to run a hand through her mussed hair after a passionate night... He wanted her to be /his/ and nobody else's. She would be so easy to get, too, if he could offer her a taste of power...

The telltale clicking of cloven hooves against stone floors signalled Miraar's proximity. He again longed to stroke her hair, run his hands along her body... She was beautiful no matter what she wore. Today it was a marvelous sage green dress that was covered in transparent, shining cloth.

She sat down and he marveled at how even her most unimpressed expression was... Oh, how he longed to view her from a different angle.

After some conversing, Augustus finally let it slip that he wanted her as his own. She yelled at him. He did not know why she was yelling until her words rang in his ears. Why did she have an accent? What... what _was _she saying? It was impossible to tell for a moment.

It was a while before Augustus managed to get to respond. At least to him it seemed so; perhaps for her it was just a second. He cast a quick spell and bound her hooves and hands together before casting another spell to make her lose consciousness. It was effective.


End file.
